


Butterflies in Space

by winn_kipsy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Met on the Ark Station (The 100), Bellarke, Clarke meets Octavia first, F/M, Not Beta Read, POV Bellamy Blake, POV Clarke Griffin, POV Third Person Limited, Pre-Season/Series 01, They haven't all been traumatized yet that's why, kind of ooc, this is a comedy of errors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winn_kipsy/pseuds/winn_kipsy
Summary: Does the butterfly effect still exist on a craft with no butterflies?Clarke Griffin has just started her training to be a doctor following her 18th birthday, and she's never been less sure of herself. She's questioning her skills, her parents, and even the structure of society on the Ark.One chance meeting, one misunderstanding, one flap of a butterfly's wings will change the trajectory of her life for good.Bellamy Blake has just been promoted from cadet to full guardsman of the Ark. He's dedicated to his sister and his mother, but he's ready for his own life to begin.One chance meeting, one misunderstanding, one flap of a butterfly's wings will change the trajectory of his life for good.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Clarke

Clarke sighed as she carefully peeled off her gloves and tossed them in the bin to be sanitized. Resources were precious on the Ark, so even latex gloves had to be reused until holes were worn into them. 

Following her 18th birthday two weeks prior, she had taken up full-time work training in the Ark clinics under the close watch of the doctors of the Ark, including her mom Dr. Abby Griffin, who worked as head of surgery.

“Dr. Jackson, how would you-” Clarke turned to ask a question of the Ark’s newest doctor, who she’d been placed with for a three month shadow rotation. As she turned, the sleeve of her scrub top snagged on the handle of the light above the examination table. With a faint rip, the shirt tore. 

“Darn it,” she frowned, craning her neck to assess the damage, “Just what I needed. Even though my mom sews people up a couple times a month, she never mends clothes for me. I’m terrible with a needle!”

“Looks like you will have to darn it,” Dr. Jackson joked with an easy smile, “but hey, you’re going to have to learn how to use a needle eventually if you want to do surgery like your mom! What was your question?”

Clarke gave a halfhearted chuckle. Without meaning to, Dr. Jackson had hit upon one of her biggest insecurities about her placement in medical. How would she ever be able to sew sutures if she couldn’t manage a pair of pants?

“Oh, nothing really. I was just wondering how you would deal with someone with a broken hip if all the wheelchairs on board were already in use.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t try to build new ones myself,” Dr. Jackson paused to consider, “I’d probably ask one of the engineers in mechanical to whip something up. One of my friends from school recently told me a really sharp young woman just started her rotations through the engineering sectors. She might be just the person to reinvent the wheel.” 

With a cheeky grin, he poked his head out of the small examination room and called, “Mrs. Johnson?” A graying woman eased herself out of a chair and limped over to the waiting pair. “What seems to be the problem today?” Dr. Jackson kindly asked as he guided her to the examination table.

“What seems to be the problem? You watched me walk over here, didn’t you?” Mrs. Johnson snapped. “If this is what passes for competency around here, it’ll be a wonder if this one-” here she turned her sharp eyes on Clarke “-manages to become a doctor worth anything. Standards are slipping every year all over this hunk of steel.” She sat down emphatically on the examination table and stuck her right leg out in between Clarke and Dr. Jackson, who shared a stunned glance before turning to face her. 

Dr. Jackson crouched next to her leg and gingerly prodded at the calf, then the shin, and finally the ankle. When Mrs. Johnson hissed, he knew he had identified the issue. “If you want our doctors to be worth their algae,” he said with a smile, “you may as well help with their training. Clarke?” 

Clarke nervously knelt next to Dr. Jackson. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t particularly threatening, but she didn’t want to get kicked or yelled at for accidentally exacerbating the injury. With some trepidation, she placed her hand in Dr. Jackson’s waiting palm.

He gently guided Clarke’s fingers to the inflamed area, careful not to press too hard. “It’s sprained. Feel the swelling?” When Clarke nodded, he stood. “I hope you weren’t running around, Mrs. Johnson!”

“I know better than to waste oxygen like that,” she huffed. “It’s my grandson. Always getting into trouble. He was running around my daughter’s apartment with her compact mirror. Irreplaceable, you know! When I reached out to grab him, I lost my balance and now I’m here.” 

Dr. Jackson winced sympathetically. “I have a pair of crutches that you’re welcome to, otherwise all I can really say is keep it elevated and don’t put weight on it for a couple weeks. Come back here in two weeks so I can make sure it’s healing correctly.”

“I’ll take the crutches, thank you,” Mrs. Johnson said coolly, “and you should really get that mended, dear.” Her critical eyes had found the tear in Clarke’s shirt. “I take all my mending down to Aurora Blake, over in Factory Station. Room 221. I wouldn’t be caught dead down there normally of course, but she only charges food rations, can you imagine? She’s getting robbed. Does pretty decent work, too. Do go see her soon, showing up to work in ripped clothing is very unprofessional. ”

This was the downside of serving in the clinic on Alpha Station, Clarke thought. Some of the people were downright snobs! Before she could even say a word in her defense, Mrs. Johnson had accepted the crutches from Dr. Jackson, shifted her weight onto her left foot, and hobbled right out the door. 

Dr. Jackson waited until she was out of earshot before turning to Clarke with a low whistle. “You hadn’t been lucky enough to meet Mrs. Johnson yet, I guess. She’s a little tough to take.” 

“A little?” Clarke smiled despondently. She knew she shouldn’t dwell on it, but Mrs. Johnson’s implication that she would be a worse doctor than all the ones who came before her was weighing on her. It wasn’t just the rest of the doctors on the Ark she was training to live up to, but her mom as well. She didn’t want to just live up to them either, she wanted to surpass them! Who had been reading medical texts nearly as long as she could read? Whose mother had been explaining medical tools when other mothers would have been explaining utensils? Who had volunteered in Farm Station every week since she turned 15 just in case someone cut themselves on the harvester and needed triage? Mrs. Johnson didn’t know ANYTHING about Clarke, and her attitude was appalling, and, and-

-and Dr. Jackson was trying to get her attention. “...Clarke? Earth to Clarke. Clarke!” Dr. Jackson finally broke through her thoughts. 

“Sorry, I got distracted for a second there.” she laughed sheepishly. 

“It’s okay,” Dr. Jackson responded. “I’ll tell you what-” he glanced at the clock “- you’ve done really well today. I’m proud of you for staying cool under pressure, that’s as vital a skill as knowing every bone for a doctor. You can knock off early. Maybe go check out that lady Mrs. Johnson recommended for mending your scrubs! Anyone she calls pretty decent has got to be amazing.”

Internally, Clarke glowed at the praise. Her mother often expected perfection, and was loath to compliment what she viewed as doing one’s job. Shadowing someone like Dr. Jackson, with his easy manners and endless patience, was perfect for her first rotation. Clarke smiled gratefully. “Thank you so much, Dr. Jackson. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

With a somewhat lighter mind, Clarke headed to her apartment to change out of her scrubs. Now that she was 18, she could choose a domestic partner and they would be assigned a different place to live, or apply for one of the coveted single apartments, but for now she was happy to share the expansive two-bedroom apartment her parents had been allotted upon her birth.

As she eased open the door, she considered where her parents would be at this time. 4:30 on a Sunday, her father was probably playing chess in the library and her mother was almost definitely at the main medical center in Go-Sci Station or working with Thelonious on new Ark policy. Clarke knew she should show Thelonious more respect and call him Chancellor Jaha, but she had been his son Wells’s best friend their entire lives, and he had been Uncle Thelonious to her as a child before he ever even ran for Council! Besides, it wasn’t like she was being overtly disrespectful if she was only impolite in her own head, she thought with a roll of her eyes.

Crossing through the living room to her bedroom, Clarke mentally assessed her coming week. Clinic on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. Helping with this week’s algae crop in Farm Station on Tuesday morning, helping Wells come up with lesson plans on Tuesday afternoon. He had always been the best in their class at Earth Skills, so it had come as no surprise when he was assigned to train as a teacher under Mr. Pike when he had turned 18. Thursday she’d probably watch a soccer game with her dad, Saturday she’d probably ask her mom to bring her along on the weekly Ark-wide inspection, and she’d probably be denied.

Dr. Griffin’s resolute refusal to show any favoritism impeded Clarke’s development, she frowned to herself as she slipped on a green sweater and a pair of jeans. It wasn’t as though the “favoritism” she wanted would be of the sneaking pills and paying extra rations variety, anyway! Clarke just wanted to progress faster, to work in more of the Ark’s medical facilities than just Main Medical and Alpha’s clinic. 

“All in good time,” her mother had told her a week prior, “Finish your rotation with Dr. Jackson, and I’ll see about getting you placed somewhere like Mecha Station.”

“Mecha Station is for spacewalkers and mechanics!” Clarke had groaned at the time. “Their clinic is basically a closet with some bandages in it. I’ve seen Dr. Jackson’s tablet- there are people being treated for low oxygen hypoxia all over this ship and I want to help them!”

“And you will,” Abby’s soothing tone had contrasted with the displeasure that stole over her features. “Dr. Jackson shouldn’t just be giving you his tablet, anyway. There’s sensitive information on there that can’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Clarke’s interest had been piqued; what could her mother possibly mean by “wrong hands?” The society on the Ark hand only lasted this long because everyone did what they were supposed to do and followed every law to the letter, and if they didn’t? They were thrown into the cold vacuum of space! Who would stand to benefit from getting ahold of an informational tablet? But Abby refused to elaborate. Clarke had turned the conversation over in her mind a dozen times since but still what her mother seemed so worried about was clear as mud.

Clarke shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was no use wondering about what her mother might know. Abby was a lot of things but easy to wear down wasn’t one. Making sure her ID was in her pocket, she grabbed the torn scrub top and folded it over her arm. If this Mrs. Blake took pay in food rations, she would have to transfer them from her own ID to Mrs. Blake’s. Not to mention the random stops that could take place between Alpha and Factory. Clarke had been caught out without her ID before, but luckily only in Alpha and by guards who knew her parents.

She was an adult now, though, Clarke told herself firmly. Not having your ID is for kids and people with something to hide. Especially since she was on her way to pay for something! It would be so humiliating to walk all the way there and realize she couldn’t even pay for the mending. 

After writing a quick note on the kitchen counter asking her dad to make cornbread for dinner, Clarke locked the apartment door behind her and began the long stroll to Factory. She reviewed her day as she walked, and decided that she could’ve definitely done better with Mrs. Johnson earlier that afternoon. She hadn’t said a word in the face of her viciousness, and Dr. Jackson had picked up all the slack. Clarke resolved that next time someone challenged her or made incorrect assumptions about her, she would set them straight. Or would she, she thought, worrying her lip with her teeth. Maybe Mrs. Johnson had discerned something about her abilities that she hadn’t yet. Maybe Clarke was too biased in her own favor and Mrs. Johnson actually had the right of it.

As she passed through Tesla and Orchid Stations, doubts started to crowd in on her mind. What if she messed up a surgery one day because she couldn’t properly close the incision? What if her mother never saw her as an adult, much less a colleague? What if Mrs. Johnson complained about her to the Council and her mother was forced to let her go to preserve her own spot as Councilwoman without being accused of nepotism?

By the time Clarke passed through Flint Station and arrived at the entrance to Factory, she was worrying the hem of her scrub top between her fingers and was half-convinced Dr. Jackson would be letting her go when she showed up to work the next morning. She shivered as she passed through the hallway to Factory. Was she imagining it, or had the air gotten significantly colder? 

This was only her eighth time ever in Factory Station, and the other seven had been on school “field trips” to the many stations of the Ark to learn about all the various systems that kept it running. Clarke reviewed what she knew of Factory as she searched for room 221. 

This was the most populous station on the Ark, with more than 900 residents. Most of the people who lived here worked in Factory, Mecha, or- she grasped at the recesses of her memory- Tesla Station? She thought that sounded right. Factory was a bit of a misnomer; not much could be fabricated on a craft with finite resources, but many repairs and repurposings of household goods happened here. Not to mention the constant upkeep of the Ark’s systems: Factory workers kept pipes from freezing over, monitored the insulation of the craft, and kept the airways clear.

Clarke was nervous; she had never commissioned a Factory worker for something herself, and she only had 19 food rations on her ID card until Friday afternoon. What if that wasn’t enough? Well, it’s now or never, she thought to herself as she stared at the 221 emblazoned on the door in front of her. 

Clarke timidly tapped her fingers against the door. On the other side, Aurora Blake looked up. Was that a knock on the door or just the ship rattling around like it always did? She figured it was probably nothing, but she might as well check.

Clarke smiled as the door opened in front of her to reveal an older woman with dark hair and kind eyes. “Hi, Ms. Blake?” she said uncertainly, “I’m hoping to get some mending done.”

She held the shirt out in front of her, showing Ms. Blake the tear in the sleeve. 

“Oh, I should be able to-”

Ms. Blake was cut off by the sound of a door opening behind her. Clarke watched as a thin, pale brunette with striking green eyes walked out of the apartment’s second room into the living area. The girl looked up, eyes widening dramatically as they caught Clarke’s watching her. 

“Oh, you have a daughter? Hi!” Clarke grinned, feeling much more at ease. A stranger with a daughter around her own age was immensely preferable to a stranger about whom she knew nothing.

Ms. Blake whirled around, saw the girl behind her, and turned back to Clarke with immense shock and distress on her face. “She’s not my-!”

“I’m not-!”

The two women cut each other off in their haste to correct Clarke, causing her brow to furrow in confusion.

Ms. Blake recovered first, stammering, “She’s not my daughter, you see, my son, he- Well, my son, Bellamy, she’s his… friend.” she finished lamely.

“Oh! I see!” Clarke smiled kindly. “His friend.” She knew some older Arkers were more conservative about relationships and sex outside of marriage, but really it was okay if this woman’s son had a girlfriend that she enjoyed having around. Still, Clarke figured it was no skin off her back to go along with Ms. Blake’s reluctance to identify their relationship as anything more than friends.

“Yeah, I’m his friend,” the girl grinned cheekily at Clarke. “Won’t you come in? I’m Octavia.”

Clarke smiled conspiratorially at Octavia. Clearly she was indulging her boyfriend’s mom too, with little talk of their actual relationship. Who was she to not play along with the other girl? A traitor to womankind she was not!

“Octavia!” Ms. Blake said with a thin smile, “Surely this young lady has other things to do with her day than sit around with us while we sew. I’ll just take your mending, that’ll be two food rations, and you can be on your way.”

Clarke was pulling out her ID card to pay when she was struck by an amazing idea, excitedly saying, “Actually, Ms. Blake, I’m doing a rotation right now that requires me to be better at stitching than I would ever get on my own. I’d like to engage your services for lessons if you have the time available.”

“I would, dear,” Ms. Blake said in a tone of false regret, “but my commissions really do keep me busy. Why don’t you ask your parents? Go on now.” She began easing the door closed, payment forgotten.

“My parents already taught me and I’m still lousy at 18!” Clarke exclaimed. “You would be able to work on your other commissions while I’m here, and-” she widened her eyes imploringly, “-I would pay 4 food rations a lesson.”

Ms. Blake squinted slightly, doing calculations in her head. When her eyes cleared and turned to Clarke, she knew she had triumphed. 

“Very well, then. Why don’t you come in for a moment?” Ms. Blake smiled, “Have a seat over here.” She gestured to the table dominating the middle of the room, shutting the door with a snap as soon as Clarke was through.

As Clarke happily made her way to the table, Octavia pulled a low set of cubbies over to serve as a third seat. Clarke looked around curiously, taking in a small and sparsely furnished main room, beyond which she could see a small bedroom holding a twin bed.

“I’m Clarke, by the way,” she said 

“So, you need sewing lessons?” Ms. Blake asked as she settled down to examine the tear in Clarke’s top.

“Yes, I’d like to come for lessons twice a week,” Clarke said as she sat in the other chair, “and I’m available any day of the week after 16:30. Of course, if no days after 16:30 work for you I have some other times that I’m available.” 

“That’s perfect!” Octavia piped up from her seat on the cabinet, “because my-” she looked at Ms. Blake uncertainly “-Bellamy starts his shift at 16:00!”

Clarke would have thought that this refusal to acknowledge their relationship would wear on the poor girl, but she seemed cheerful and Ms. Blake seemed kind, and it really wasn’t any of her business anyway. 

Ms. Blake agreed, saying “yes, my son works 16:00 to midnight. It can get a little cramped in here with more than just two or three people, and Octavia tends to help me with my work most days. Why don’t you come over on Tuesday whenever you’re free, and we’ll see how it goes.”

After thanking Ms. Blake profusely, Clarke got up to leave. As she was walking toward the door, she was thrown off balance by the feeling of a bony body slamming into her side, thin arms locking around her waist. She looked over to find Octavia clinging to her, grinning brilliantly and… looking a little teary?

“See you on Tuesday!” the younger girl said tremulously. “Don’t forget.”

Clarke covered her confusion with a graceful, “Of course I won’t!” and hugged her back as best she could from her awkward angle. This was an unusual way to treat someone you’ve just met, she thought, but Octavia was clearly just a tactile person. Wells hugged her the first time they met too, she reminded herself, although that was in preschool.

Thinking about the whole affair on her walk home, she smiled widely. Octavia seemed like she would be an excellent friend; she clearly had a big heart, even if she was a little high-strung. 

Far back down the hall, where life in room 221 had just been turned on its head, Aurora and Octavia Blake were reeling from their close brush with utter chaos. 

Just as soon as the door had closed behind Clarke, Aurora had turned to Octavia and demanded, “What were you thinking? Didn’t you hear me open the door?!”

“I didn’t!” Octavia protested loudly. “I didn’t hear a knock or anything and you were so quiet that I didn’t realize you had even gotten up until I came out of the bedroom!” 

She would take it to her grave, but Octavia actually had heard a soft, female voice and taken her first risk in her long 16 years. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she continued petulantly, “she probably won’t even come back.”

“She’ll have to,” Aurora wryly responded, “I have her shirt that needs mending. And you can do it, since you’re so hellbent on getting us caught by making friends.”

With that, she set about continuing her own needlework as Octavia began stitching up Clarke’s shirt. Several minutes passed in silence, until-

“Are you going to tell Bellamy?” Octavia asked softly, head bowed over the table. She was so lonely and she wanted so badly to talk to more than just two people, but she didn’t want to put Bellamy’s future at risk or jeopardize everything he and her mother had worked for over the course of her entire life.

“No.” Aurora replied, startling Octavia into peeking up at her. “I think we can agree that your brother can never know.”


	2. Bellamy

Bellamy yawned, opening his eyes to the pale fluorescent light of his mother’s living room. The couch he slept on, the rug that covered Octavia’s hiding place, and the set of cubbies that held his few possessions could hardly be considered a living room, he scoffed to himself. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet voices of his mother and sister as they worked at the table nearby.

“Mrs. Johnson will be by around 13:00 tomorrow to pick up her grandson’s pants, so you’ll need to make yourself scarce by 12:00-” Aurora paused, noticing that Bellamy had started to sit up.

“Good morning. I hope we didn’t wake you.”

“No, no,” Bellamy demurred. “I woke up on my own.”

He checked the watch he had been issued as a cadet in the Guard: 15:03. Only 25 hours until his next shift. 

“You have the day off today, right, Bell?” Octavia asked. “We could play a round of chess?”

Bellamy smiled. His sister was the center of his world, and it was gratifying that she loved spending time with him. Still-

“I’m planning to spend the first part of the day with Nathan, but in the evening I’m all yours.” With that, he stood and grabbed his clothes to change in the bathroom.

Octavia wilted slightly. Bellamy was one of the lowest ranked guardsmen, so he worked 12 hour days, usually at night. He only got a day off about every two weeks, completely at the whim of his commanding officers, and when he was working or asleep she had only her mother for company. Still, she reminded herself, a new friend might be coming tomorrow, and Bellamy deserved to spend time with his own friends. Who knew when both of the Ark’s newest guardsmen would have the same day off again?

Nodding to herself, she set about continuing her work. People didn’t need clothing repairs often on the Ark, so the Blakes didn’t receive a lot of business. Between people gaining weight, losing weight, and gifting clothing to others of different body types, though, they still managed to make enough to eat. Usually. 

A food ration was the algae equivalent of a single meal on Earth, about 500 calories. Getting three food rations a day was enough to keep a person alive, if not in peak condition. On the Ark, each person over 18 was entitled to a single food ration a day, and those under 18 were entitled to two. The rest they were intended to make up through a vocation or other employment. Aurora had deemed it too risky to keep her Factory job once Octavia was born, so she had done her best to earn the difference as a seamstress.

Octavia shivered, remembering leaner days when no work had come in and Bellamy was still too young to work part-time after school. His two rations had been shared between them, one each, while Aurora offered them her own ration and they refused.

“If you starve to death, I’ll be fostered and who knows what will become of Octavia?” Bellamy had protested hotly. Aurora had cried as she ate, but ate she did. That was a pretty big burden to place on a boy of 12, Octavia thought to herself. Now that she was 16 she certainly had more perspective than she had at seven, tearfully watching the two people that made up her whole world arguing.

The sound of Bellamy emerging to put on his shoes shook her from her thoughts.

“I might see about trading my shoes for something else,” he announced, “now that I have my guard boots. They’re better quality and I don’t need two pairs of shoes, anyway.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Aurora replied. “Here, take my card- you can pick up today’s rations for me.”

“Okay, how many?” Bellamy responded with a quick glance at Octavia. She had always been thin, but with her most recent growth spurt her collar and wrist bones seemed even more pronounced than usual.

His mother frowned to herself before deciding, “Four. And some cornmeal if you can manage it.”

Bellamy shared a grin with Octavia as he opened the door to leave. Aurora only bought luxuries like cornmeal when things were going well. She might make cornbread, or crackers, or even hold onto it in the hopes of buying some sugar to make a cake. Octavia had never had cake before, and he desperately wanted her to try it.

He thought back to the last time they had eaten cornbread as he walked. It was three years ago now, when he had been accepted to the cadet program to train as a guardsman. His first pay of rations had gone to the luxury, to celebrate the increased security his new salary would bring.

Bellamy’s pleasant reminiscence was interrupted as he passed into the warmer air of Flint Station. They weren’t satisfied with just keeping a full third of the Ark’s population on one part of the ship, he frowned to himself, that part of the ship also had to be the most poorly maintained. It wasn’t a new thought, though the “they” in question was fairly changeable. The Council, the Chancellor, the informal ruling class of the Ark, human nature itself… he had pondered many times why some Arkers would be content to let their fellows live in substandard conditions, and had concluded that most decent people hadn’t made it to a space station in the first place.

“After all, look at the long line of history” he had raged to Octavia on more than one occasion, “people with means flee to new lands when the going gets tough. The people who got to space were only out for themselves! The best people stayed until the end, trying to de-escalate.”

From a young age, Bellamy had known he would be a guardsman. The guards knew which sections were up for random inspection each day, so he had to become one to protect Octavia. When he indulged himself in a fantasy of another life, though, he knew he would have loved to teach. History, preferably, but Science, English, and even Earth Skills had held his attention throughout his time in school. 

Learning, engaging with new information, debating with worthy opponents, these were the things that made him feel like his life had meaning. Joining the ranks of the man his mother had needed to sleep with to learn the inspection schedule? Not so much. 

Thinking about it would only ruin his good mood, he reminded himself sternly. That was in the past. As of last week, Bellamy was a full member of the Guard, and Aurora would never have to do it again. 

It wasn’t a secret that she had done so, though, and there was the rub. In a society as insular as the Ark, and Factory within that, there were no secrets except those so dear that the price for keeping them was flesh. Though she kept her most precious secret of why, everyone knew that Aurora Blake was sleeping with Sergeant Grus. 

Children had been told not to play with Bellamy after school because whatever Aurora Blake was up to, their parents wanted no part of it. Some said she made drugs, others whispered that he paid her in extra food rations and trinkets confiscated from floated Arkers. None guessed the truth, but all were wary. 

The corruption in the Guard was a fact of life on the Ark, Bellamy thought with disgust. Everyone knew that some guardsmen coerced vulnerable women into sex, but nothing was done. Commander Shumway himself, it was said, had planted evidence that led to the floating of two men just last year! 

It burned Bellamy up, but he knew, and all his fellow guardsmen whom he might be inclined to turn in surely knew, that breaking that wall of silence would bring undue attention to his mother. As long as he toed the line and kept the Guard’s secrets, or allowed his fellows to keep their own, his own life would remain uninterrupted as well.

His life could do with a little interruption, though, he reflected as he continued into Tesla Station, the very heart of the Ark. Only a few 21-year-olds still lived with their parents, and he was certain even fewer slept on a couch. Arkers were entitled to apply for apartments with two beds upon the birth of a child, but single parents were often denied until the child reached school age. Aurora had already been pregnant when Bellamy started kindergarten, and so had not been able to venture out to apply again.

When she had discovered the crawlspace in the floor of their apartment, the matter was settled: they would not be moving. So Bellamy had grown up with little personal space and less privacy, consigned to the couch until he could support himself and his mother could make do without him.

With his recent promotion and the decades of security it would afford, that day was finally in sight, he smiled to himself as he passed through Orchid Station on his way to meet up with his friend Nate. Another recently promoted guardsman, Nathan was a legacy: his father, Sergeant Miller, also served in the Guard.

Bellamy slowed as he reached the passageway between Orchid and Alpha Stations. This was where Nate lived, and today a surprise checkpoint had been set up by Sergeant Miller to monitor the comings and goings of Alpha. He joined the queue to enter the Ark’s most exclusive station behind an old couple and a young woman with blonde hair. 

“Good afternoon, ID card please. Thank you. Good afternoon, ID card please. Thank you.”

“Good afternoon, ID card please.”

“Oh shoot!” the woman in front of him was frantically patting her pockets. “I don’t have my ID. I’m sorry, Mr. Miller!”

Bellamy bristled internally at the slight. Mr. Miller? That was Sgt. Miller to her! Who was this girl, walking around the Ark as though the rules didn’t apply to her?

“Don’t worry, Miss Griffin,” Sergeant Miller’s genial response answered his question. “I saw you come out of the clinic over there, and I know where you live. Say ‘hi’ to your parents for me.”

“Thank you so much,” the Griffin woman responded with relief. “Give my best to Nathan! Bye!” 

Bellamy eyed Sergeant Miller as he stepped up to the checkpoint. “‘And always remember,’” he recited balefully, “‘always, always, always check ID. No ID? That’s a misdemeanor and warrants a fine of one food ration.’”

“Oh, Bellamy, good afternoon!” Sergeant Miller responded cheerfully. “That was just the Griffin girl, headed home. Not really the sort we need to worry about. ID?”

As Bellamy handed his ID over, he shook his head, “That’s not the point! The point is you taught us ‘no ID, no passage, no exceptions’ and here you are making an exception! Either the rules don’t matter, which means no one should be subject to their consequences, or-” he glared at the woman’s back as she made her way down the hallway, “-they DO matter and you don’t let anyone go, regardless of who their parents are.” 

Was he imagining it, or had her shoulders tightened at the words? Maybe she had heard him… and so what if she had? He had never seen her before, but he had heard of her. The Griffin princess and the Jaha prince, born to ensure their families’ hold on the Ark for another generation. The Griffins and the Jahas and the Shumways walked around the Ark as though they owned it, and in many ways they did. Flagrantly disobeying the rules and not experiencing the consequences was just adding insult to injury!

“Oh, the passion of youth,” Sergeant Miller was saying as he handed Bellamy’s ID back. “So idealistic. Some might even say naive. Go, meet up with my son, and you can complain about the establishment until you’re hoarse. Tell Nathan I’m expecting him to take over this post at 18:30.”

“Will do, Sergeant.” Bellamy responded resignedly. Sergeant Miller wasn’t going to change his ways because a lowly guardsman berated him, even if they had known each other for years, he chastised himself. When he got promoted though, he swore, things were going to change.

Making his way down the hall, he took in the wide, clean hallways and beautiful views out of Alpha’s windows. He shared a “good afternoon” with the janitor making the floors shine and stopped outside Nathan’s apartment. He knocked once before letting himself in.

“Hey! You ready to watch the game?” Nathan grinned up at him from the couch. “Manchester United vs. Liverpool. Should be exciting!”

“Yeah, sure,” Bellamy responded distractedly.

“You OK?”

“Yeah. It’s just-” he sighed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, “-I just wonder what life would be like if everyone on the Ark was treated the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, with ID cards. You all live here in Alpha with a different set of rules than the people I live with in Factory. Forget an ID in Alpha? No worries, it’s all good, our families have been friends for generations, see you next week for game night!

“But in Factory…” his olive cheeks reddened with frustration, “the Guard doesn’t recruit from Factory. I’m the first one in years. Get caught without an ID in Factory, it’s an immediate ration deduction with the promise of stricter consequences for your next infraction.”

“That sucks, man,” Nathan said sympathetically. “You can’t deny that more criminals come from Factory, though. I’m not saying it’s good that Alpha people are treated different!!” he exclaimed at the incensed look on Bellamy’s face, “I just mean that maybe Factory people need to be watched more closely because they’re more likely to commit crimes.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Bellamy decided it wasn’t worth a fight. It was true, anyway; more criminals DID come from Factory. Food thieves, medicine thieves, blanket thieves, all overrepresented in Factory. Often floated unless they could pay restitution to those they had stolen from. “Play the game. I’ve got one ration on Liverpool.”

Two hours later, Bellamy was a food ration richer and walking Nathan to relieve his father at the checkpoint. As they walked, they heard raised voices emitting from an open door down the hall. Making curious eye contact, they hastened closer to the noise, glancing into the apartment.

“Mom! Listen to me!” It was the blonde from earlier! Bellamy snorted derisively as he listened to her whine. Spoiled, just like he thought. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a mess, and it wasn’t hard to see why as she ran her fingers through it in agitation.

“Honey, I’m sorry, but it’s already settled. Mecha will be-” the stern voice of an older woman cut off as she noticed the open door. “Good afternoon, Nathan, dear,” she said curtly, “so sorry to have disturbed you.”

Nathan had the decency to look apologetic at being caught snooping as the door snapped shut in his face.

“So, that was Councilwoman Griffin?” Bellamy tried for casual as they continued their walk. 

“The one and only. She’s a little intense, but she was always nice to me as a kid and she’s a hell of a doctor.”

“And a mother?” Bellamy ventured, curious despite himself about the girl who had seemed so intense despite having such shallow concerns.

“Oh, I know she seems strict but she really does love her family more than anything.” Nathan responded, slowing his pace as they approached the checkpoint. “Hey, dad.”

“Nathan! Right on time. Bellamy, I think we’re working a shift together tomorrow afternoon. Don’t be late!” Sergeant Miller smiled broadly at the two of them.

“I won’t, sir.” Bellamy responded as he made his way to the exit, resolving to put Alpha out of his mind and focus on Octavia instead.

Stopping by the northern mercantile on his way, he picked up everything his mother had asked for, including the cornmeal. A full kilogram was five rations, but she’d been confident they could afford it. Plus, he remembered with a satisfied smile, his salary as a guardsman was three rations a day. That left one extra each day that he could save to afford things like cornmeal.

If he saved for another couple months, he’d be able to apply for an apartment and afford the furnishings it needed! Bellamy, he thought to himself, your life is looking up.

***

The next day, Bellamy headed to the Guard headquarters on Go-Sci to get ready for his shift. Each guard had a hook and cubby with which to store their uniform, baton, and gun. As he strapped into his vest, he noticed it was a little tighter than usual. The perks of eating well, he smiled to himself. 

“Blake, I’m told you and I are doing surprise checkpoints at Farm and Factory today.” Sergeant Miller said as he strapped on his own vest. “I don’t have a preference, which one would you rather do, son?”

This was one of the reasons Bellamy valued the Millers so highly. His dad had never been around, floated for sedition shortly after he was born, and Sergeant Miller had taken care to be kind to “that Blake kid in your class,” ever since Nathan had come home one day talking about the Factory kids who’d been reassigned to the Southern school after the Northern class sizes got too big.

“I’ll do Factory if it’s all the same to you,” Bellamy replied, collecting his thoughts. “I’ll head over there now. See you in a few hours!”

‘A few’ was a bit of an understatement, he chuckled grimly as he walked into Flint. The strict hierarchy and overt inequity of the Guard meant that more senior officers got the cushy shifts, four to six hours at a time and during waking hours. The lower ranking guardsmen, of whom Bellamy and Nathan were currently the lowest, got eight to 12 hour shifts that went overnight. 

As he approached the entrance of Factory, he noticed a blonde head making her way in the same direction, a couple meters ahead of him. What was she doing here? He hadn’t stationed himself at the checkpoint yet, so he couldn’t stop her, he reminded himself sternly. She certainly looked out of place on this side of the Ark, though. That was pretty suspicious, maybe he should stop her just to make sure she knew the rules actually applied to her ilk in Factory.

“Stop!” he decided, drawing surprised stares from a pair of teens milling around the vestibule of Flint. 

She whirled around, concern creasing a line between her brows.

Bellamy picked up his pace, jogging to the entrance of Factory and taking out his scanner. “ID card, please,” he huffed, holding out his hand.

Still frowning, she handed it over. “How long is your shift here?” she asked innocently. 

“12 hours, why?”

She took her card back with a sardonic look, “You still would have gotten me on the way out if it meant that much to you.” 

Was she mocking him? Who did she think she was? “What’s someone like you doing on this side of the Ark?” The question had escaped before he thought it through. 

Her eyebrows flew up. “Excuse me?”

“For official reasons, I need to know what business you have in a section you don’t live or work in,” Bellamy corrected himself quickly, damning his curiosity and caustic tone in his head. Maybe she would buy that response?

“You do not. I’ve been all over the Ark, been through hundreds of checkpoints, and not once has a guardsman asked my business.” 

He should have known he wouldn’t be so lucky. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he had heard crotchety old Arkers say. “Have you considered that that might have more to do with who you are than the usual practices of the Guard?” he asked delicately.

“Even if that were true, it’s still the rest of the Guard that has a problem, not me. And I’ll have you know,” she squinted at the name tag affixed to his vest, “Sergeant Miller? You’re not Sergeant Miller!” she glared up at him.

“What?” Bellamy looked down in shock. There it was, Sergeant Miller emblazoned on his tactical vest. He must have put his things on the wrong hook and taken Sergeant Miller’s by mistake! Knocking off at 04:00, it wasn’t surprising that his attention to detail had slipped. Still,

“I’m not impersonating a guard! I took my Sergeant’s vest by mistake.”

“Who are you, then?” she asked suspiciously. 

She probably wanted him written up, he thought with a trace of panic. She could do it, too. Her mother was a councilwoman, and rumor had it that she was favored over Marcus Kane in vying for the Chancellorship when Jaha’s term ended. If anyone had the power to end his career with a well-worded complaint, it was her. So,

“I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, Miss Griffin,” Bellamy responded with forced politeness, gratefully noticing the queue that had formed during their conversation. “I’ve got other people to check now. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

She swept off with a considering frown over her shoulder, surely planning how to research his identity and get him chastised, he thought. Well, let her, he decided mulishly. No guardsman had ever been fired for being too diligent, and that’s what he was! Diligent. Diligently checking IDs and asking questions and- wait, she’d never answered his question! What was she doing here?

His thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant Miller strolling jovially down the hall, Bellamy’s vest in hand. After they traded vests, he leaned against the wall, settling in for a long evening of checking IDs and looking the other way if his neighbors didn't have them and coming up with nefarious reasons why the Griffin girl would leave her tower to grace Factory with her presence.

Two hours later, she returned to the checkpoint with her left hand in a tight fist, apparently in an excellent mood. Bellamy casually hooked his thumb through the strap of his vest to cover his nameplate with his hand, just in case. He resolved not to say a word to her, lest his mouth get away from his brain again. He held out his scanner to process her ID. ‘C. Griffin,’ yet again. All normal.

She gave him a smug look as she passed by, but he bit his tongue and offered her a 'good riddance' in his head.

As she walked away, he noticed a single drop of blood fall from her clenched fist to the ground. What the hell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pride and prejudice really are such universal themes... I find the Ark setting so rich and interesting, I love being able to do whatever I want with it. I was so gratified to see that people were interested in this story, comments are appreciated as always!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work, so of course comments are appreciated! As you can tell by now, I'm trying to put a new spin on the "Clarke and Bellamy meet in space" trope. This is just the opening gambit, I hope I can stick the landing as the story progresses.


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